


The One Where Brendon Gets Lost

by OtherCrazyThing



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherCrazyThing/pseuds/OtherCrazyThing
Summary: Brendon travels through time, space and books.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There are references to The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers and The Time Machine by H. G. Wells.  
> And it was written 5 years ago.

Brendon gets lost, and the most horrible part of it is that he gets lost not in his own city, country or even the planet. He gets lost somewhere in between the worlds.

+++

Brendon has always read a lot. When he had read his first book at the age of 8, he was fascinated so much because it seemed he had just been on the pirate ship somewhere in the faraway Atlantic. Or walked along the paths with Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. It was awesome – a whole new world behind each page of a book, different every time. 

 

When Brendon is older, reading is still his main distraction. Books are his medicine, his entertainment, his own world inside of him. 

 

It's quite expected that when Brendon is old enough, he opens a bookstore which in time becomes a success, because Brendon is in love with his book-related business. 

 

Moreover, here, in his own bookstore he's met the love of his life, Ryan, and they've been living happily together for about 2 years so far – before Brendon gets lost. 

+++ 

He opens his eyes in the morning and understands that something is wrong. He stretches out his hand looking for Ryan's warm body but hits the sharp corner of the nightstand. 

“Ow,” he hisses and sits on the bed. 

He is definitely not at home. The place he is now reminds him of a room in a cheap hotel. He looks around trying to figure out how the hell he got here. Ryan's freaky jokes? Does he have to expect a crowd of crazy people rush through the door laughing at him? Huh. Brendon stands up and walks to the window. Weak cold sunlight is flowing in the air. 

The door opens and somebody comes in. Brendon turns around and sees a boy of 17 at most staring at him in shock.

“Who the hell are you?”

Brendon shrugs and answers simply:

“Brendon, you?” 

The boy doesn't answer. He looks at Brendon frowning, full of suspicion. 

“How did you get here?” 

“You tell me, I have no idea.” 

The boy's eyebrows shoot up. 

“That's my room,” he announces. 

“Okay? Really I… just don't know how I got here.” Suddenly Brendon feels lonely. 

“Are you drunk?” the boy narrows his eyes at him. 

“No! God, no,” he walks back to the window, “where am I? I can't recognize the street.” 

“Edmont hotel.”

“Edmont hotel? Where is that?” 

“New York – “

Brendon turns to him abruptly:

“What? New York?” 

“Yes?” the boy is confused too.

“But I live in Vegas!” 

The boy sighs and sits on the bed.

“Well, you drank too much last night then.” 

Brendon starts pacing around the room like a lion in the cage.

“Okay, okay, okay, I need to calm down,” he stops, “can I borrow your phone to call my friend?” 

The boy looks at him like he is a sick animal. 

“I am not that rich to get a hotel room with a phone, you know.” 

“Okay, there must be a phone at the receptionist then - ” Brendon is almost at the door ready to run.

The boy's expression doesn't change. 

“You speak weird.” 

“Whatever, I need to make call.” 

The corridor is dim, long and dirty. It smells of dust and alcohol. Brendon wrinkles his nose. 

A big bald man is sitting behind the registration desk, legs on the table, reading a newspaper.

“Hey,” Brendon starts looking around for the phone, “where can I make a call?” 

The man slowly turns his head to him, his eyes are dull and indifferent. Brendon makes his smile stay on. 

“What?” the man asks. 

“Call, you know? Speak to somebody through the device which connects all the cities?” Brendon's tone isn't mocking at all. 

“You must be crazy,” the man says and brings his attention back to the newspaper. 

What the fuck, _what the fuck_ is going on? He asks for a phone call and people call him crazy? 

He is ready to go out in the street when he hears the voice behind him:

“Hey,” the boy from the room says, “you can call from a phone box in the street if you have money.” 

Brendon silently agrees and follows the boy out in the street. 

+++

“You never told me your name,” Brendon says as they walk along the street. It is pretty cold, but surprisingly he is wearing clothes which fit New York weather in December. 

“Holden,” the boy answers. 

“Huh, Holden Caulfield?” he muses.

“How do you know?” the boy stops and Brendon stops as well. They stare at each other in shock. 

“You are Holden Caulfield?”

“Yeah?” the boy nods. 

“You ran away from your parents and were expelled from school?”

Holden starts to walk backwards from him. 

“Oh my god, what year is it now?” Brendon asks trying not to freak out, trying not to think he is crazy.

“1949.” 

The world swirls and breaks up into million pieces. 

“What? How can it be 1949? How –“ 

He needs to calm down. Clear his thoughts. Okay. It's 1949, he's in New York and it's Holden Caulfield in front of him. Okay, he is not crazy and he isn't asleep, but… but…

Is he inside the Catcher in the Rye novel? How is that even possible?! 

Okay, okay. He needs to calm down and think how to get out of here. Oh my god, how the fuck did he even get _in_ here? Brendon tries to remember what happened before he fell asleep and woke up in that cheap hotel room. He didn't even read anything because he was so tired after the mind-blowing sex with Ryan! And the last time he read Salinger was at the age of 15! 

What should he do? Maybe fall asleep again so he can come back home? Yeah, he can try it. 

“I need to get back to your room,” he says to Holden who still is staring at him tentatively. 

“Sorry, I won't come back there, I need to go,” Holden fixes his bag on the shoulder. 

“Fuck,” Brendon swears, “I mean… fuck! I need to fall asleep –“

“Are you sick?” 

“No! I just – “

Brendon understands that he can't tell him anything. Even thinking of what could happen if he told Holden where they were right now, makes Brendon's head spin. So he doesn't think about it. It's just a dream, though not the most pleasant one. All he needs now is to try to fall asleep somewhere in this goddamn city. 

“Well, I'm going to see my sister now, you can join if you want,” Holden offers. 

“Sister, right,” Brendon doesn't mention that he remembers her name too. 

+++

In the Central Park where they all arrive later, Brendon and Holden are sitting on the bench watching little Phoebe on the carousel. 

“You seem nice though you are really, really weird. How did you know my name?” Holden asks not turning his head to Brendon. 

“Uh,” Brendon considers for a moment, “when I studied at school, I had a… friend named just like you. He was expelled too and then ran away.” 

Brendon feels like shit because his lie is just so much crap. 

“Oh,” Holden says, “funny coincidence, isn't it?” 

“Yeah,” he watches at the carousel and his head begins to spin. 

“What did you do after school?” Holden seems to get interested in him.

“I studied literature in college,” his head gets even dizzier though he doesn't look at the carousel at all. 

“And then?” 

“Open my bookstore.”

“Lucky you, huh?” 

Brendon doesn't answer because he can't. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and the consciousness slowly slips out of his control. He feels like he's going to faint. 

“Hey,” he says weakly, “I think I…”

Brendon sees the worried Holden face in front of his. 

“What's up with you?” Brendon hears as if Holden is far-far away from him. 

“Take care of your sister and yourself, kid,” Brendon whispers before everything goes black.

+++ 

Brendon wakes up because his back is wet as if he was sleeping in the pool. He cracks one eye open and squints because the bright sunlight is shining right down on him. He rubs his forehead and sits. 

“Oh my god, where am I now?” 

He is sitting on the glade full of greenest grass he has ever seen. There is a house near him looking like an estate, Brendon considers. 

“What the fuck?” he moans and stands up. 

But he nearly gasps when he notices what he is wearing – a ridiculous white shirt with lots and lots of odd ties on it, something reminding Brendon of a tail-coat and tight-tight pants which make Brendon uncomfortable to move. 

“Jesus,” he whispered trying to do something about those pants when he hears someone's calling.

He looks up. 

A girl is running towards him and Brendon panics. Fuck, what should he say? Who is he and what is he doing here? 

The girl approaches and Brendon smiles hoping to win some time and distract the girl's attention. 

“Good morning,” she curtsies, “is Mr. Darcy expecting you?”

Mr. Darcy? Oh my god, can he faint right now and here again because he is in… what, the 19th century? And in England? God, he needs Las Vegas, US, the 21st century, please. Not… this. Brendon is ready to cry in frustration but he smiles though with very much intensity. 

“Yes,” he nods, “please, show me the way.”

The girl smiles softly and goes towards the house. 

+++ 

Brendon has never been in an English estate of the beginning of the 19th century and the inner apartment impresses him just a little. It's gorgeous and so from that time, Brendon thinks. He keeps himself from wow’ing and looking around at the pictures and statues on the walls like being in a museum. 

“Mr. Darcy will meet you in a minute,” the servant girl informs him, bows again and leaves. 

Brendon awkwardly bows too. Just practicing because people bow a lot at each other in the 19th century, right? 

“My servant told me there's a young man waiting for me in the living room,” Brendon is staring at the portrait of the woman, mouth open, and doesn't notice anybody until he hears very deep male voice, addressing him, “How can I help you?” 

Brendon coughs in embarrassment and turns to Mr. Darcy stretching out his hand. 

“Good morning, my name is Brendon Urie,” he says and for a full minute shakes his hand staring at him (Mr. Darcy happens to be a really handsome man!) and hysterically trying to make up something to say.

“It's _so_ nice to meet you,” he says at last shining like the sun. 

“I am pleased too, I think,” Darcy looks at him weirdly and slowly frees his hand from Brendon's.

The silence falls and Brendon takes a breath to speak. 

“So,” he starts, “I am –“ Brendon is ready to run away and scream in horror, “I am… a dance teacher,” he blurts and looks at Darcy with a plastic smile.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Darcy's face is incredible, “Did somebody send you here?” 

“No,” Brendon swears to himself, “I mean, yes, a friend of yours and he sent me here to entertain you.” 

What the fuck is he even talking about? Oh my god. He laughs nervously. 

“Entertain me?” Darcy looks perplexed. “In all honesty, I don't understand what you are talking about, Mr. Urie.”

“Balls!” Brendon feels a little relief, “Balls, you know? He said I should teach you how to dance and then we can have a great time at the balls.” 

“Oh,” Darcy blushes a little, “I see.”

He takes a step or two away from Brendon and asks:

“When do we start?”

+++

Brendon spends about a week in Darcy's estate. He misses Ryan, he misses home. Sometimes he feels so desperate he thinks he'd drink up some poison. There must be some exotic poison in England of the 19th century, right? He hopes every night that he falls asleep and wakes up in his beloved Las Vegas, but he wakes up on the huge bed in the huge Darcy's estate and goes to teach him to dance.

Darcy is awkward. Brendon teaches him the waltz and they spend hours and hours in the empty room circling around it like two bears. Well, at least Brendon compares dancing Darcy to a bear, because his moves are uncertain and awkward, and sometimes Brendon has an urge to get him drunk and show him the real moves on the table. But as it is a really crazy idea for the 19th century, Brendon drops it. 

“One, two, three,, one, two, three,” he counts holding a hand on the small of Darcy's back, “don't look on the floor, chin up, man!” 

“You speak strangely,” Darcy says blushing and sweating from the exercises and embarrassment. 

“So I've been told,” Brendon answers flawlessly and continues the lesson. 

When Darcy tells him there is a ball next Friday, Brendon is glad, because at last he sees something more than this goddamn estate.

“There's going to be Elizabeth Bennet and her sisters,” Darcy says fixing his cravat in front of the mirror.

“Yeah, I know,” Brendon mumbles. 

“I beg my pardon?” Darcy's eyebrow flies up. 

“Oh, I just said that that would be awesome. Ball, girls, all sorts of fun,” Brendon shrugs and smiles happily. 

“I hope so,” he turns back to the mirror. 

After a week of practice Darcy still moves awkwardly while dancing but Brendon encourages him and now Darcy is sure he can dance. At least, Brendon thinks, the rest is not in his control and everything is written long before him. It's going to be okay. 

And Brendon really, really hopes he'd disappear from that place before Bingley and Bennet’s engagement. 

+++

On the last day of the journey to the ball Brendon feels sick while they are riding in that carriage and arrive to the place at last. He gets off it, all his body in cold sweat. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Urie?” Darcy asks him anxiously. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Brendon nods still feeling like he's going to throw up on the pavement. 

“Wonderful,” Darcy smiles and confidently goes towards the hall. 

There are a lot of people inside. Bright dresses, shining of gold and jewelry, powdered faces and smiles everywhere. The sounds of orchestra are filling the room too and if not for Darcy, Brendon would get lost in that mad crowd. Brendon is grateful. 

He notices girls watching him and then giggle behind their ridiculous fans. He doesn't pay much attention to them though he knows there's no chance he wouldn't dance with one of them tonight. If only they knew where he comes from and that he likes boys (well, one boy who he really loves), that would be such a scandal. Brendon grins. 

The music is loud. Brendon is on Darcy's side waiting him to do something. 

“I should introduce you to the Bennet family,” he says and Brendon forces himself to smile.

“Alright,” he nods. 

Elizabeth and her sisters are polite and nice, bowing and making eyes like their mother's taught them. Brendon behaves like a gentleman but tries not to show any interest in anyone of them. God, he doesn't need even a hint of an affair with a girl in the 19th century England. 

“You should dance.” Brendon whispers to Darcy smiling sweetly at no one in particular, “Did I just waste time teaching you, huh?” 

Darcy's cheeks colour the fade pink but he says nothing. 

“Alright then, follow my example and be brave, man,” Brendon comes up to one of the girls he doesn't remember the name of and invites her for a dance. Before they dissolve among the pairs on the dance floor, Brendon turns to Darcy, winks and mouths, “Invite her.” 

The girl dances wonderfully and Brendon really has a great time. He laughs and swirl the girl who follows him perfectly. In the end they are both tired and out of breath so he bows gracefully and leads the girl back to her seat. 

“You dance delightfully, Mr. Urie,” the girl is already in love with him, he can feel it.

“Thank you,” he smiles modestly and really he wouldn't refuse to drink a glass of water right now, “I leave you for a moment,” he says and goes in search of something to drink. 

In the halfway he feels weakness in his knees and for a moment he's afraid he'll fall down right there and then. There's a familiar dizziness in his head and he tries to go faster to find a seat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers and leans against the wall. 

The edges of his vision become blurry and he faints not even having time to say good bye to Darcy.

+++ 

This time Brendon wakes up on the bench and his first thought is that he came back to The Catcher in the Rye times. The sky is grey and low, and the area around him is dirty and gloomy. Obviously not England in the beginning of the 19th century, he thinks and stands up. His clothes change too and now he's wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a slightly worn jacket. He goes towards the house which seems inhabited. 

A teenage girl comes out of it and approaches Brendon quickly as if she has been waiting for him. But she goes past him not even looking up from the ground. 

“Hey!” Brendon calls and the girl turns his head, her eyes are full of fear.

“Yeah?” she says.

Brendon doesn't know how to ask, how to talk in such a way as not to scary her even more. 

“I'm lost,” he says softly and a tiny bit sadly, “Can you tell me what place that is?” 

“The middle of nowhere I guess. What do you want?” her voice is still frightened but her look is still fake-brave. 

“Uh, am I in the United States?” 

The girl frowns.

“Yeah, are you drunk?” she demands.

“No, Jesus, I'm just lost,” again Brendon feels lonely, pathetic and really lost in everything. When will he come back home? He can't live in books anymore, he wants his real world, he wants to go back to Ryan and their warm bed. He is tired of these journeys through time, space and human fantasies which they put into the books. 

“What year is it?” he asks instead not worrying to freak out the girl this time, this question doesn't put her in any harm. 

“1935,” the girl answers. 

“Oh fuck!” Brendon groans and pulls at his hair, what book is that this time? US, 1935? Great Depression? Oh my god. 

He looks at the girl who doesn't run away and now watches Brendon with curiosity.

“What's your name?” he asks. 

“Mick,” she says, “Mick Kelly.” 

“The heart is a lonely hunter?” Brendon voices his thought. 

“What?” Mick even takes a step closer to Brendon. 

“Nothing,” Brendon tries to remember what the book is about, “You… You love music, right?” 

“Yeah, how do you know?” Mick stares at Brendon with surprise and kinda awe. 

“Well, I know… things,” Brendon answers and rubs his neck, “I love music too.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I play the piano and the guitar.” 

“Really?” the girl's eyes are shining with excitement now, “What is your name?”

“Brendon.”

“Brendon, you should teach me to play the piano,” she says without hesitation. 

He taught Mr. Darcy how to dance, now he is going to teach this girl from the Great Depression era to play the piano. What is his life? 

“Okay, but as far as I remember you don't have a piano,” Brendon says.

Mick blushes. 

“Yeah, but you must have it if you play,” she points out. 

“Huh,” Brendon sits back on the bench, “And you are not afraid of me? That I may be a crazy guy who traps young girls in his house and then does bad things to them?” 

“Are you?” she asks amused and sits next to him. 

Oh god, is that 1935 for sure? 

“No,” Brendon shakes his head, “As I already said, I'm lost. I don't have a house and even a piano.”

The girl sighs.

“That's really sad. Where were you supposed to live?” she asks a moment later. 

“In Las Vegas.” 

“Oh. I wish I had a friend over there,” she smiles at him. 

“Like you don't have friends over here,” Brendon asks her smiling too. 

Mick sighs again.

“Look where I live. It's a dump. I want to be a musician, I want to play the piano and charm people with music all over the world. Have you heard Beethoven? Symphony no. 3? It's amazing. I feel like I'm running free above the world when I'm listening to it.” 

Brendon smiles at her words. He knows the feeling. 

“You have a wonderful dream, don't give up,” he says. 

“I won't I swear,” Mick says and it seems like she really means that. 

They sit in silence for a while watching random birds flying here and there. The sky is even greyer that it was a few minutes ago. It might be rain, Brendon thinks. 

“So, tell me about yourself,” Mick offers. 

Brendon huffs. 

“I miss home and Ryan.”

“Who's Ryan?”

“My boyfriend,” he answers simply. 

Mick turns to him.

“Your boyfriend?” 

“Yeah, my boyfriend,” Brendon looks up at the sky. 

“You mean you are –“ 

“Yes, I mean exactly what you think,” he sighs and thinks has he just done something wrong? Whatever. She is going to be okay. 

“You must be happy,” Mick says. 

“I was. I will be again when I am back home.” 

She flashes him a smile. Brendon frowns. 

“What?” 

“Say hi from me to him?” 

Brendon grins.

“Okay.”

“You'll come back home soon, don't give up.” 

“I won't,” he smiles sadly. 

The whole conversation seems completely surreal. What are they even talking about? 

Suddenly he feels dizzy again. What the hell, is he not stuck here for a week? So soon? 

“Oh,” he says and looks at Mick, “I think I'm off.” 

Mick nods and stands up. 

“Don't forget about your promise.” 

“And you about yours,” Brendon tries to smile but the darkness falls earlier.

+++

Brendon won't open his eyes if he's not at home, he decides. Please, please, please, it must be home, he can't wake up somewhere in the middle of Shakespeare plays anymore. 

“Hey,” Brendon hears and opens his eyes. 

It's not home and definitely it's not Ryan above him. It's a dark room with weird things on the walls and a face of a man with too excited eyes peering into his. 

“Who are you, boy?” the man asks. His voice reminds Brendon of witches. 

“Brendon,” he answers tiredly. 

“How did you get here?” 

“No idea. I fainted and bam! I'm here,” he sits, “Where am I this time?” 

Brendon forgets about weirdness of his questions. He doesn't give a damn, all these people are not even real. 

“Near London,” the man answers. 

“What year?” 

The man grins like a lunatic.

“Interesting question. 1895.”

“Jesus,” he falls back onto the bed or wherever he is lying on. He will cry right now. Because he is tired, he is lost, he doesn't know how to get back and now he is in Europe again at the end of the 19th century. 

Brendon doesn't say anything for a long time and almost forgets about the man somewhere near him, but then decided to figure out what book he is in.

“Who are you?” 

The man returns from the corner of the room where he is writing something.

“People call me the time traveler.” 

Brendon sits. 

“What?” his eyes grow big, “Did you send me in all these books?” 

Man's eyebrows wriggle. 

“Books? No, I'm just trying to travel through time not through books, that's ridiculous.” 

Brendon jumps off and starts running around the room. 

“Okay, anyway, if you're kinda a scientist, you must be crazy, hence you must have something to bring me back.” 

The man stares at him.

“Back? Where?”

“Las Vegas, 2011”

“It’s not ‘back’, it’s ‘forward’,” the man argues. 

“Oh my god, whatever works for you, bring me back!” Brendon almost shouts in frustration. 

“Hey, calm down, we make something up,” the Time Traveler says and hurries to his mysterious corner, “While I'm figuring out how to bring you back, tell me something about your time. Though, you know, 2011 is not that far, I always dream to go much further.” 

Brendon sits on his rumple bed and sighs.

“Not very much different from now. We have phones and computers. Planes. Can communicate even if there are millions of kilometers between us.” 

“We can do it here too,” the man notices. 

“Yeah, but in my time it's much easier,” Brendon shrugs. 

Nobody talks for about half an hour and Brendon starts to doze off. 

“Hey!” he literally makes himself wake up, “I'm falling asleep. Do something, I don't want to wake up here one more time.” 

“Patience,” the man says quietly. 

Brendon lies down. He is tired and sleepy, he doesn't want to witness this weird world of 1895, he does not. 

He feels the man approaches him but he doesn't open his eyes. Then he feels something sharp and cold pierce his skin right above the elbow. 

“You must wake up in your time now and stay there for the rest of the time,” Brendon hears vaguely, or he wants to hear that, “in case you get lost again try to come back here, and we make something up.” 

Brendon licks his lips to say “Thanks” but doesn't have time.

+++

“Brendon! Brendon, for fuck’s sake! Are you drunk?” 

His head aches like hell along with his neck. Has he been sleeping in the chair? Fuck. 

He groans and lifts his head up from the table. Oh my god, it hurts. 

And did he hear somebody call him or he imagined that? He looks around. 

It's his shop. Books on the shelves everywhere, familiar smell of new paper. 

Oh god, is he at home? He nearly falls off the chair and his head is pierced with a shot of pain. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” he says rubbing his forehead and going towards the door. 

It opens and Ryan enters. 

Brendon stands still watching his boyfriend closing the door and catching his gaze. He swallows, his headache doesn't worry him anymore. 

“Ryan,” he says quietly. 

Ryan stares. 

“Excuse me? Have we met before?” 

Brendon's jaw falls. Shit, did he return a little earlier then it's supposed to be and Ryan doesn't know him? Well, Brendon has one more chance to win his heart? He smoothes his t-shirt. 

“Uh, probably,” he smiles. 

Ryan smiles back and Brendon's heart doubles his rate. 

“Can I help you?” he asks politely still smiling because he can't stop, because he's been in love long before this moment. 

“Yes, I'm looking for a McCullers’s book –“

“The heart is a lonely hunter?” 

“Yes, exactly! How did you know?” 

Brendon shrugs. 

“I know… things. Besides,” he leans closer to Ryan, “Mick says hi to you.”

Ryan frowns and Brendon want to kiss that little wrinkle between his eyebrows. 

“Who?” 

“You'd find out later,” he answers looking Ryan straight in the eye in which he already sees something he remembers from before. 

Fin.


End file.
